Mickey drops the cigarette butt
into his can of Pepsi.
It sizzles as the fire dies.
“He was so heavy.”
He presses the back of his hand
against his mouth,
as if those four words
are the first drops in a flood
that will drown us all.
“Heavy, like a sandbag,
in my arms.
And behind that door.
It took both of us,
me and our sister, Siobhan,
to push it open.
I thought, What idiot got so wasted
they passed out on our bathroom floor?
And probably puked all over
Mom’s favorite guest towels,
and we’ll have to clean it up,
and I swear to God,
this is the last party
we’ll ever have.”
He shakes the Pepsi can,
the cigarette butt rattling
staccato.
“So the door finally opens,
and there’s no puke,
no blood,
no nothing.